I Now Pronounce You Holmes and Watson
by kazumigirl
Summary: In a private little community, violent murders are taking place. Watson and Holmes decide to investigate the crimes undercover, but they didn't know they'd have to go undercover in a gay community pretending they love each other!
1. Chapter 1

** Chapter One: New Residents  
**

"Blunt head trauma, rope burns around the wrists and ankles, bruises on the torso..." Watson examined the body carefully, Holmes and Lestrad peering over his shoulder. "Fractured ribs...." he pulled himself back. "Obvious signs of torture."

"He's not the first," Clarky said, a few feet behind them. "We've found three more, all dumped at the outskirts of the Cleveland district."

Holmes and Watson exchanged glances. The doctor spoke, "Similar murders?"

"This is the first with rope burns," Lestrad said. "But, yes, very similar indeed."

"He wasn't a ruffian," Holmes muttered, looking the body over. "Expensive clothes, manicured nails, clean haircut..."

"Perhaps they were mugged?" The inspector shrugged. His eyes lit up, and he seemed to get excited, as if he were solving the case already. "And then the mugger murdered them and dumped the bodies?"

Watson and Holmes looked at each other again, their eyebrows furrowed slightly. It was the classic look one gave when they actually felt embarrassed for somebody else. In this case, Lestrad.

"A mugger would have killed him instantly," Holmes said briskly. "This was planned, well thought out, had to have taken time." He observed the poor body once more. "Were the victims related?"

"No, Sir," Clarky said. "They all lived in the same area, though."

"Cleveland Street?" Watson turned to him.

"Yes, Sir," Clarky nodded. "The other residents won't speak with us, though. They're a very private bunch."

"Did the other victims dress in the same manner?" Holmes asked.

"They were all fairly clean, yes," Lestrad replied. "Perhaps the killer is jealous of their handsome appearance?"

Watson rolled his eyes and Holmes looked away. They looked over the body one more time, and Holmes clapped his hands. "Very well! We'll take the case!"

"Holmes-" Watson began, but the detective held up a hand to silence him.

"Do we know anything about the Cleveland Street bunch?"

Lestrad and Clarky exchanged glances this time, tugging at their collars nervously. They cleared their throats and shuffled their feet. Lestrad said, "They're a very _private_ group. We tend to leave them alone."

"They won't talk with you," Clarky added. "We've already tried. They have no intentions of giving information to outsiders."

---------------

"We'll be turned away," Watson said as they paraded down the street towards the Cleveland district. "They won't tell us anything, Holmes."

"Sixty percent of human communication is non-verbal," Holmes replied. "It's what they _won't_ tell that will solve the case."

They arrived at Cleveland Street, one they'd never truly had to cross before, and noticed nothing out of the ordinary about it. The houses were well-maintained, the cafes busy and bright, and people walking up and down the sidewalk as if nothing was wrong. It didn't seem like the kind of place people would be abducted, tortured, and left for dead.

"Richard Winston resided here-" Watson pointed to a house, glancing briefly at the address Lestrad had scribbled down.

They walked up to the door and tapped on it. People were talking inside, and the rap at the door silenced them immediately. After a few moments of odd noises, somebody opened the door. A man with broad shoulders, a strong jaw, and a pointed nose. His dress shirt was stretched across his skin, as if his bulging biceps couldn't bear to be restricted against the fabric. He frowned at the pair at his door.

"Can I help you?" For such a solid fellow, his voice had an odd texture to it. Almost _prissy_. He looked from Holmes to Watson, studying them intensely.

"Good afternoon." Holmes smiled. "This is where Richard Winston lived, I presume?"

"Richard's dead," the man said, his voice clotting slightly. "Not like you care. None of you care. You never care."

"You don't even know _who_ I am." Holmes continued to grin stupidly.

"I don't need to know who you are," the man scoffed. "I know _what_ you are and what you think of us!" He opened the door a little wider, his arms flying to his hips. Behind him, three other gentlemen sat around a coffee table, sipping tea.

Holmes took note of the surroundings, especially the contents on the table. Lace doilies, fancy china, small cakes topped with cream and strawberries. The interior design mirrored the choice of food. Everything was decorated in an off-color, or pastel. China figurines decorated curvy-wood shelves, and a vase of flowers sat in a sunny patch near the far window.

"We're terribly sorry about the loss of your friend," Watson said, removing his hat. "That's why we're here. We're hoping we can catch the murderer before he can strike again."

One of the other men spoke up. "Are you from around here?" He said.

Holmes immediately jumped the trust wagon and gave Watson a hearty slap on the back. "Just moved here from Baker street," he chimed. "We're house-hunting, but when we heard of the..." he sighed heavily. "_Dreadful events_, we weren't sure if this was the right place for us after all."

Watson frowned at him, wondering how the lies rolled so easily off his tongue. He turned back to the gentlemen, and the one who'd opened the door, looked away, shaking his head. He smiled, and gestured for them to come in.

"You're among friends here," he said softly, motioning for them to sit down. "Jasper, fetch our friends some tea, won't you?"

Jasper, who was sitting on the couch, stood up, making a face. "Oh, so now that Richard's gone, I'm your little milkmaid now, is that it?" He stormed off, swishing in his steps.

"Don't mind Jasper," the third man said. "He thinks he's the queen of this dump of a cottage."

Holmes and Watson laughed good-naturedly, Watson's more hallow and nervous than Holmes. He kept a smile plastered to his face, but as he began to intake his surroundings, his palms began to sweat. He'd had two or three patients come to him with embarrassing problems, and they'd all seem to come from the same area. One he could never remember the name of.

"I know it's scary to think that such good people can be broken and beaten," the first man said. "But we're the only accepted community in all of London." He held out his hand. "I'm Ethan, by the way. Ethan James."

"Sherlock Holmes. "The detective shook his hand.

"Dr. John Watson." Watson shook his hand too.

Jasper returned with tea, and let his head roll back dramatically. "We're out of mint leaves..._again_." He turned to Ethan. "You said you'd go to the market today."

Ethan sighed. "I will go to the market today." He gestured at Holmes and Watson. "Can you not see that we have guests?"

"I know!" Jasper snorted. "You're already eager to replace Richard!" He frowned at the pair. "Just because-" he looked at Holmes. "he has gorgeous eyes and nice shoulders." His gaze moved to Watson. "And he has beautiful lips and an intriguing gaze."

_Gorgeous eyes? Beautiful lips?_ Holmes frowned thoughtfully, but decided the compliments were nice enough of thought nothing of them.

"Why do you always have to be so bloody indignant?" The second man asked. "These poor souls are searching for a place where they can live together in peace, and you're ranting about mint leaves."

"Well, Edward," Jasper said in a snotty toe. "You're one to talk. The linens you bought are just dreadful. Everybody knows purple and yellow don't go together."

"Gentlemen," Ethan said sternly. He smiled at Holmes and Watson. "I apologize for my friends. We're all a bit shaken over Richard's demise."

"Completely understandable," Holmes nodded, sipping his tea. His eyes lit up. It was probably the best tea he'd ever tasted.

"We're very private, this community," Ethan continued. "Everyone leaves us alone, but they know."

"That's why they shrug off the murders," Edward sighed. "They think it's for our own good that our neighbors and friends are losing their lives." He chuckled sadly. "Just because men live together, and share clothes, and eat off of eachother's plates."

"What's wrong with that?" Holmes, Watson noticed, really didn't get what was going on. The doctor squirmed uncomfortably, knowing these were all things that he and Holmes did on a regular basis.

"Nothing!" Jasper threw his arms up. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes! Nothing is wrong with it! And why it bothers so many people is beyond me!" He huffed. "I mean, for God's sake, Alexander the bloody great slept with men!"

Holmes choked on his tea. When funny glances came his way, he coughed, "Swallowed too fast."

Jasper grinned at Edward and muttered, "That's what you said last night."

Watson choked this time, and on nothing. They quickly regained composure, reality finally dawning on Holmes and everyrthing coming together quickly. He looked at Watson, who frowned at him angrily, breathing heavily through his nose.

"So how long have you two been together?" Ethan smiled sweetly. "And let me say that you're a _darling_ pair."

"Aren't they?" Edward sighed. "I just love the little details about you. It's the little details that are the most important, in my opinion."

Holmes scratched his head awkwardly, not eager to admit that he held the same opinion. Silence filled the room and Ethan gingerly placed his teacup back on its decorative saucer.

"I can't tell you how much we appreciate your help, gentlemen," he said. "And I just want you to know that Cleveland Street welcomes you with open arms."

"_Very_ open arms," Jasper said, a bit flirtatiously. He looked at Holmes. "Doctor, if you ever decide you need a break from your usual medicine, give him to me and I'll take care of him."

Watson inhaled deeply through his nose, stiffening, and Holmes turned a million different shades of red before shrugging one shoulder and smiling awkwardly.

"Leave them alone, you tart!" Ethan scoffed playfully. His eyes lit up. "You know! Our second story floor is vacant. We were holding it for two new residents, but they're a very snobbish pair, muttering about the paint job and what not."

"Why don't you two take it?" Edward finished. "We won't even charge you since you're here on business, willing to track down those awful killers."

"Oh, well..." Holmes desperately faltered for an excuse. He mentally kicked himself for using the excuse of house hunting. "We wouldn't want to be a bother."

"He means that," Watson smiled helpfully. "My friend can be very noisy in the middle of the night."

"Ooohhh," Edward nodded, and gave him a wink. "You see, Doctor, I would have pegged you as the noisy one." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "But just between this lot, us downstair residents really don't mind _that kind_ of noise."

Watson turned red this time, and Holmes pretended to be looking for clues in his empty teacup. Ethan stood up, clapping his hands, his weight resting on one hip. "So it's settled, then! Our guests may reside upstairs."

"We have a dog," Watson tried one last time to talk their way out of it. "A bulldog."

"Oohhhh..." they placed hands over their hearts, their faces melting with love.

"So you have a baby!" Jasper cooed. "That is so _precious_."

--------

"I'm going to murder you!" Watson hissed when they finally left.

"How was I supposed to know?" Holmes demanded. "It's not like there were any signs!"

Watson blew up. "DID YOU OPEN YOUR EYES, YOU DAFT IMBECILE? THERE WERE SIGNS EVERYWHERE YOU LOOKED!"

Ethan opened the door. "Everything alright, Gents?"

Watson and Holmes smiled.

"Grand," Holmes assured him.

Ethan nodded. "Hurry up and bring your things," he said. "Jasper's cooking a pork roast for dinner. It's the best."

"We could always just...never return," Holmes shrugged.

"They're counting on us to catch the killer of their friend," Watson sighed, closing his eyes. "We can't let them down, even if they are..._different_."

"By the way," Holmes wondered aloud. "Which one do you think Richard belonged to anyway?"

Watson shook his head and walked ahead of him. Holmes caught up. "So you're up for it, then?"

"Up for what?" Watson scoffed, "Pretending to be with you, living in a house full of lady-men, while working on a case when I could be brushing up on my medicine?" He stopped. "Yes, I'm up for it, but only because _you_ put me in that situation."

"They did make good tea," Holmes muttered helpfully.

"Yes, they did," Watson nodded, also muttered. He found where he'd mislaid his anger. "Now let's just get to work on the damned case so we can be done with this crazy lot."

-------

"Oh! He's gorgeous!" Edward cooed when Jasper waddled into the house. "And look at how shiny his coat is!"

"Flax seed," Holmes explained. "Does wonders to hair." He set some luggage down.

"Sounds like you need some," Edward told Jasper, who immediately fingered his hair defensively.

"The bed is a bit small," Ethan told them, leading them up the stairs. "But you should both be able to sleep comfortably in it."

"Bed..." Holmes repeated slowly, looking at Watson. "Right."

"So when and where was Richard abducted?" Watson asked.

"He left for a pub after dinner with some colleagues," Ethan said, setting their suitcases on the bed. "He didn't come home." A sad expression crossed his face and it was obvious who had been Richard's partner. "I found him the next morning, but I can't say I was surprised."

"And this happens often?" Holmes quizzed.

"The killings, no," the other man replied. "The kidnappings, yes. It's why we built our own cafes, stores...we don't want to have to set foot outside the neighborhood unless we have to. Too many dangerous people wanting to hurt us."

He looked around. "That'll do? For now, I mean."

"Thank you." Holmes looked at Watson, who stared back at him.

Ethan nodded slowly. "Right...well, dinner's in half an hour, and we're going to have a wine-gab after."

" 'Wine-gab'?" Watson repeated.

"We drink some of the finest wine we can find over the month and just..._talk_," Ethan explained.

Watson and Holmes both looked down. Another thing they did on a regular basis, in their oh-so-very-straight home. Ethan left them alone and Holmes immediately began searching the room for clues.

"This was a lousy idea," Watson said, staring up at the ceiling.

"I think undercover missions are rather intriguing," Holmes muttered, picking up a hair and observing it closely. "It has the excitement of police work, but the artistry of theatre."

--------------

"And so then, Giles walks right up to him, and tells him that his trousers are out of season!" A semi-drunk Jasper said, and the other men busted out laughing.

Holmes and Watson fake-laughed, wondering why that joke was even humorous. The pork roast dinner really had been good, and the wine was amazing.

"So," Jasper turned to the pair. "How long have you two been together?"

"Three years," Holmes said, considering it truthful enough.

"Jesus," Edward whispered, shaking his head. He chuckled. "You blokes are practically married then, aren't you?"

"Tell me, Doctor," Jasper said. "What's the sexiest thing about your Sherlock?"

Holmes looked at Watson, curiousity written all over his face. Ruse or not, this was bound to be interesting. The doctor shifted uncomfortably and swirled his wine around in his glass.

"His _needy...ness..." _Holmes then realized that Watson himself was bit tipsy. This was going to be _very_ interesting. He looked at Holmes. "He's a brilliant man, really, but I have to take care of him, watch him constantly, scold him..." he blinked heavily, shaking his head a bit. " _Love_ him." The words were so quiet, Holmes almost didn't hear him.

"Aww..." Jasper, Edward, and Ethan cooed.

"And you, Mr. Holmes?" Edward looked at the detective.

"His moustache." Holmes took a gulp of his wine, and the men laughed all over again.

------

The wine had just started to wear off by the time bedtime rolled around, and Holmes haned the doctor a tall glass of water. Watson downed it and stared at the bed. He looked at Holmes.

"I suppose you could sleep on the floor," the detective shrugged.

"We'll share it," Watson groaned, knowing all of the coded language of the mentally-disturbed sleuth.

Living in a gay boarding house, pretending to be one of them, how could they not be mentall disturbed?

To Be Continued...


	2. Chapter 2

** Chapter 2**

**Author's note: Chapter 2 is here! Oh, and I've gotten some questions about Edward and Jasper's name, and, no, it has nothing to do with _Twilight_. Never read it, never seen it. It's purely coincidence.**

Sleeping in the same bed turned out to hardly be a problem at all. Holmes fell asleep the second he closed his eyes, possibly to avoid anymore complaining from Watson.

The doctor watched him, sitting up in the bed, and looked away, shaking his head. The room was chilly and the comforter was thin. He laid down, slightly uncomfortable because of the temperature, and could practically feel heat radiating from his co-lodger. He stared at the far wall for a long time, and finally turned the other way, inching closer to Holmes until they were touching. The detective grunted in his sleep and rolled over, his face buried in Watson's chest. The doctor bit the corner of his lip, staring down at the mop of unruly dark hair. He closed his eyes.

----------

"Mr. Holmes?" A knock at the door awoke them. "Dr. Watson?

Watson woke first, looking around, trying to remember where he was. There was something warm on his neck, and he realized it was Holmes' mouth. He was drooling on him.

"Wake up!" The doctor hissed, shaking him awake.

Holmes groggily sat up, blinking heavily and scratching his chest under his shirt.

"Lads?" Ethan opened the door a crack and took a quick peek around before stepping in. "Breakfast is ready."

-----------

Breakfast was much more than breakfast. When Holmes and Watson reached the dining room, they were not expecting so much food: ham steaks, boiled eggs, toast, tea, coffee, croissants, jams, fresh fruits...

"I take it you two slept well?" Edward grinned, peering over a morning paper.

"Coffee or tea?" Ethan asked, the perfect host.

At the same time, Holmes said, "Coffee" and Watson said, "Tea".

They looked at each other, and Watson reminded him quietly, "Coffee makes you jittery."

"Tea," Holmes muttered sullenly.

They sat down at the table and Jasper cocked his head slightly, staring at them intently. Ethan broke his gaze by moving between the trio to fix plates. He set them before Holmes and Watson, beaming. "Eat up!"

As they ate, Holmes began to discuss the case. "Has anyone confessed to seeing the murders?"

"Not one," Edward sighed, putting the paper down. "Poor Richard."

Watson snatched up the paper, his only link to the _real_ world.

"Surely he wouldn't have left the pub alone," Holmes suggested. "You said he was with some friends?"

"Richard's not-" Ethan began, and then sadly corrected himself. "_wasn't_ a night owl. He probably left early."

"Perhaps we should visit this pub, Watson," Holmes said absent-mindedly.

" 'Watson'?" Jasper's brows furrowed. "You call him _Watson_?"

Holmes and Watson quickly exchanged glances at Watson lied, "When he's upset with me."

The other men stared at them.

"Why are you upset with him?" Edward asked the detective sincerely.

The detective looked at Watson again, who looked away, muttering something about finally being caught.

"He threw out my favorite shirt without my knowledge." It wasn't a total lie. It had really happened once.

"It had a big rip in the side," the doctor replied, catching on. He too, was being partial to the truth.

"And he complains about my violin playing." Holmes was obviously enjoying a sympathetic audience.

"You wake up at strange hours just to pluck a few notes on it," Watson shook his head, his brows furrowed.

"And he tricked me into eating eggplant once." The detective frowned at Watson, his voice lowering. "Even though he knows I'm allergic to it."

"You are not!" Watson barked, but the others quickly intervined.

"Oh, Darling," Edward said, smacking his lips. "John cares for you, that's all."

"And Sherlock sounds like your perfect match," Ethan said. "After all, a fine doctor like yourself probably has a lot of patience and understanding." He clapped his hands. "That's enough then! Let's kiss and make up!"

"Beg pardon?" Holmes looked at him as though he hadn't heard him correctly.

"I agree," Jasper nodded. "So you two snog and say you're sorry."

The doctor and detective's brains were doing a one-eighty together, trying to think of a reason why this event would not have to take place. They stared at each other, babbling incoherent nonsense to the others.

"Let's put the shirt and violin nonsense behind us," Ethan said. "One kiss and all your troubles will melt away."

Holmes finally just shrugged helplessly and Watson rolled his eyes slightly. They leaned forward, closing their eyes, and their lips met. It was jolting at first, almost like getting shocked, but as their lips parted, bottoms touching tops, the hint of teeth and tongues, it was..._different_.

They pulled away, and the other men applauded.

"See?" Edward smiled. "That wasn't so hard."

Watson and Holmes smiled and shrugged, their expressions flustered and nervous, but only because it was true. It really hadn't been that hard.

-------------

They spent the remainder of the day working on the case. It turned out Richard had been book editor, fairly wealthy and popular. It was amazing he'd been able to keep his lifestyle a secret. The other two victims had been friends of his, also homosexuals.

The pub Richard had visited the night of his death had little vital information other than he _couldn't_ have been killed there. It would have been too busy. Somebody would have see, and fetched help.

Holmes recalled the image of the corpse, and the murder came to life in his head. _A slightly tipsy Richard Winston leaves the pub. He rounds the corner and is met by his killer. They strike him in the head with something-most likely a lead pipe or steel crowbar. While he's succumbing to a concussion, they drag him a few blocks away, restraining him at the wrists and ankles, and beat him again...until he finally dies..._

-------------

"So how is the case coming along?" Ethan asked over dinner.

"Did Richard have any enemies _here_?" Holmes asked. "On Cleveland Street?"

"It was somebody from the outside," Jasper scoffed. "They probably found out about his _disturbing_ secret and decided to punish him for it."

Holmes chewed thoughtfully, staring into space. "So he had no enemies that he knew by name."

"Everybody loved Richard!" Jasper stood up. "He was a kind, decent man who never wished harm on anybody!"

"Jasper." Edward cleared his throat and tugged at his friend's elbow, motioning for him to sit back down.

"_Sherlock_." Watson shot him a warning look. "Perhaps we should drop it for now."

--------------

"I'm terribly sorry about Jasper," Ethan said later. "I'll admit he doesn't have tact when it comes to things like this."

Watson only nodded and Sherlock looked away, glossy-eyed, his mind elsewhere. The three of them were in the parlor, untouced tea in front of them.

"We were in love," Ethan said quietly, staring into his cold, milky brew. "He was my life."

Again, the doctor nodded silently. Ethan leaned back into the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. "What Jasper said was true, though. It should have been one of us. Richard was loved by all."

"We really are truly sorry," Watson said quietly. When Holmes added no comment, he elbowed him in the ribs.

"Very sorry," Holmes said.

------------

"Tonight you are not to slobber on me," Watson said, making the bed.

"Right." The detective paced the room, hardly listening. "Watson, how outlandish would it sound if I were to propose that somebody _here_ murdered Winston?"

"What makes you think that?" Watson asked. "And _here_ as in the community? Or _here_ as in this house?"

"Community," Holmes replied. "The rope burns were not aligned. Whoever tortured Richard did not know how to bind properly, or tightly enough. They had weak hands." He blew on his pipe. "The bruising was repetitive to certain spots, so the killer also wasn't strong enough to make proper blows to the right spots."

Watson rubbed his chin thoughtfully, but shrugged off whatever thoughts were forming in his head. He climbed into bed. "I guess we'll find out in the morning," he yawned.

"We will." Holmes began looking around, even under the bed. "We're going out to talk to some of the residents around here." He stood back up, scratching his head. "Where is my violin?"

"I hid it." The doctor's eyes didn't even open. "I don't want you playing at two in the morning, in somebody else's house."

Holmes frowned. He walked over to an empty jug and began to blow in it, eyeing Watson. The doctor tried to ignore him at first, but the sound became too irritating, and he sat up.

"Just sleep like a normal person," he almost whined.

"Never." Holmes tossed the jug over his shouler and it shattered into a million pieces.

"HOLMES!" Watson got out of bed. He groaned and buried his face in his hands. Muttering angrily, he walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out the violin. "Here."

Holmes took it, and then handed it back. "I don't want it."

"Take it!" Watson ordered. "You already made a series of unpleasant sounds already."

"No." Holmes shook his head, taking a step back.

"I am about to break this," Watson warned. "Take it."

"You wouldn't break it." He almost sounded worried.

Watson scowled, and set it down gently. "Good night." He moved back to the bed.

Holmes picked up the violin, and gently plucked one of the chords. When Watson did nothing, he plucked two. Three, four...he began to play, pacing the room and muttering about murderer methods. Watson finally got back out bed, wordlessly, and grabbed the detective by the arm, parading him back to the bed.

"Go to sleep!" He ordered.

Holmes climbed into bed. "Watson," he sighed casually. "I'm not tired."

"Count sheep," the sleepy doctor muttered.

"You know I can't do that," Holmes said. "My sheep never jump over the fence."

"Let me guess," Watson turned over so Holmes couldn't see him grinning. "They all cluster beside it, smoking pipes, gabbing about how the fence got there."

"Yes..." It was just like Holmes to answer like he was so surprised.

"Goodnight, Holmes."

"Goodnight, Watson." The detective finally yawned. "Pleasant dreams."

"If only," Watson muttered.

To Be Continued...

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It was still dark out when Watson woke. He groggily rolled over and realized he was alone in the bed. He sat up, blinking heavily, and crawled back to the other side, leaning towards the end table to retrieve his pocket watch. It was only after three.

It wasn't _unlike_ Holmes to be up so early. It was strange, however, for him not to be anywhere in sight. The doctor rolled out obed, scratching his head sleepily. He looked around the small room, his eyes finally settling on the desk. A single sheet of paper fluttered around in the draft, weighted down by Holmes' violin. He took it and read quickly.

_Gone to brothel. Be back soon._

It was just like Holmes to be so vague and casual about sneaking off in the dead of the night to visit a whore-house. Watson cursed under his breath, shaking his head. He quickly dressed and quietly snuck downstairs.

-----------

Male brothels were intriguing. The detective would have never guessed that so many different kinds of men visited them. He recognized a few- wealthy businessmen, writers, a few off-duty policemen. He watched them all from a table in the back, away in a dark corner. Nobody seemed to notice his presence.

His disguise was clever enough. Most of the gentlemen in Cleveland dressed far nicer than the average man. He'd taken note of this and carefully sorted through his and Watson's collection, and finally put together a handsome ensemble.

"Come here often?"

He looked up, a bit startled by the broken silence, and smiled awkwardly. "Just got word of the place," he said.

The man was large, and not big-boned. _Muscular_, he was. He was wearing a nicer outfit than everybody in the building put together, and an expensive haircut to boot. He sat down across from the detective.

"Are you looking for work?" He grinned slyly, coiling his fingers around his drink.

"I'm here on work, actually," Holmes replied, absent-mindedly, sipping his own drink. "Did you know a Richard Winston?"

"Never heard of him," the man said, shaking his head. "Are you supposed to meet him?"

"I should hope not," Holmes muttered, craning his neck to get a better look of the ever-growing crowd.

The other man studied him, squinting curiously, and pointed to the mass. "Who's that over there?"

Holmes whipped his head around in the direction of the finger, suddenly thinking it might be Watson. If so, he would _never_ hear the end of it. While he looked for the doctor, the man leaned across the small table and dropped a tablet into his drink, watching it dissolve quickly.

Holmes turned back to him. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't catch your name."

"Do you need it?" The man grinned devlishly.

"Maybe I _want_ it," the detective replied, daring to be flirtatious. There was something sinister about the stranger, and Holmes wondered if it had something to do with the sinister killings afoot.

He gulped down the rest of his drink, and was immediately hit with drowsiness. He coughed, falling back against his chair, sliding down. The man quickly stood up and moved around the table to catch him before he could hit the floor. Forcing Holmes to his feet, gripping him under the arms, he leaned into his ear. "You new fags are all the same," he whispered. "This isn't a pub, Darling. It's a brothel. You're immediately up for grabs."

Holmes opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue felt lifeless. He began to sweat and his vision blurred.

"Off we go then." The man half walked, half dragged the detective away from the table.

----------

"A 'brothel'?" Ethan repeated when Holmes returned to the house, sweating and dishevled.

"I've looked everywhere for it," the doctor sighed.

"You won't find it!" Ethan scoffed. "It's very private. An _underground_ facility." He handed him a cup of coffee. "Why would Sherlock be at a brothel?"

Watson took a sip of the hot liquid, stalling for time. He mentally rattled off all of the plausible answers, and finally said, "He's an idiot."

"Clearly," Ethan agreed, his eyebrows raised. "He's got _you_. Why in God's name does he need to service a brothel?"

"What is a brothel exactly?" Watson decided to play dumb, deciding it would help their identities rather than hurt them.

Ethan frowned. "You're not serious."

"I've, um..." Oh, good lord, was he actually immitating Holmes' puppy-dog eyes? "I was raised in a very strict, very _closed_ religious community. I usually just _pretend_...to know about such things."

By the way Ethan was staring at him, Watson knew he was not as good a liar as Holmes.

"It's not a pub," Ethan finally said. "If that's what you're thinking."

Watson couldn't believe he was buying it, or at least pretending to. He sipped his coffee again.

"It's a _gentlemens' club_," Ethan said. "A _lonely man's _gentlemen club." He sighed. "Doctor, with all due respect, I know you what it is."

Okay, so he didn't buy it. Watson paled. They were going to be found out right then and there. All because Holmes was crazy enough t run away to a secret sporthouse.

"Look," Ethan lowered his voice. "You don't have to be ashamed, alright?" He stared up at the ceiling, and then back at Watson. "You and Sherlock are new to the game-one of you was bound to get curious."

Watson nodded, putting on the best embarrassed expression he could muster. He stared into his coffee cup, trying to look hurt. Ethan patted his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Look, I'll get you the address, you'll go fetch your man before he gets himself into trouble, and we'll make sure this _event_ never leaves this room."

"Thank you." Maybe he wasn't such a bad actor after all.

-----------

Holmes faded in and out of consciousness, his head dizzy and throbbing. He could feel a stale mattress beneath him, the man's hands all over him, working quickly to remove the detective's clothes. Holmes muttered something along the lines of 'stop', but his lips were silenced by a forceful hand.

Between the nausea and pain swirling in his head-his ears pounding, he heard yelling. Yelling and grunting. Cracking...breaking...

He felt the bed shake violently and then there was silence. Through distorted eyes he saw another. A hand gently moved to his sweaty forehead, resting there. Fingers touched his throat and wrists.

"It's alright, old boy."

Watson.

He thought he said his name, but he wasn't sure. Oh, how he tried. In his head he was rattling off a million thank yous and apologies, but he wasn't sure if they ever made it to his mouth.

He could feel the doctor checking him over for injuries, and then re-checking for any he might have missed the first time. He closed his eyes, feeling safe enough to succumb to the sleep he'd been fighting for the past half-hour.

---------------

"I should have left you there."

The detective awoke to see Watson seated across the room, fuming. He was staring out the window. Holmes sat up, yawning. The doctor glanced at him, and then back to the window.

"Are you upset?" Holmes yawned again.

"I'm royally pissed if you want the God's honest truth," Watson said, standing up. "Do you know how I found you?"

"No, I was unconscious," the detective said in one casual breath, also standing up.

"With some _Adonis_ strattled over you trying to take off your belt," the doctor said. "Does that not worry you? At all?" He sighed, his anger dissolving just a bit. "You should have told me."

"You would have never let me go," Holmes retorted, but not in a biting way.

"We could have gone _together_," Watson countered.

"To a brothel?" Holmes raised his eyebrows.

Watson only continued to frown. "I'm not laughing."

"I didn't say you were," Holmes said.

That's all it took. Watson stormed over to him and punched him in the face. Holmes staggered backwards, and looked away, guilty as anything. Watson shook his head, disgusted, and stormed out of the room. He was met by Ethan on the stairs.

"Everything alright?" Ethan asked.

"Yes," Watson smiled, nodding. "Thank you."

To Be Continued...


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Over breakfast, Holmes and Watson spoke to everyone except each other. Ethan pretended not to notice, filling everybody's plates with pastries. Jasper frowned at them, and Edward stared at Holmes' black eye, horrified.

"Christ almighty, what happened to your face?" He asked, reaching over to trace the bruise.

Holmes looked at Watson and the doctor looked down, guilty. The detective took a sip of his tea. "I fell off the bed."

"And did what?" Jasper snorted. "Fly across the room?" He and Edward began laughing. "Hit the wall?"

Watson smiled slightly, silently thanking Holmes, and the detective fake-roared, slapping the tabletop and wiping his eyes. Jasper cleared his throat and asked, "Seriously. What happened?"

Holmes stopped laughing. He drummed his fingers agains the edge of his plate. Watson sighed and tossed his napkin onto his plate, leaning back in his chair. "I hit him."

The other man slowly moved from their stares from Holmes to Watson. They shifted uncomfortably, and then Edward nodded, squinting slightly. "I get it."

"You do?" Holmes sounded a tad too paranoid, even for him.

"They like it rough," Jasper said quietly, grinning.

Holmes and Watson relaxed, but then tensed again, red creeping onto their faces. Edward and Jasper nodded at them, and Holmes placed his napkin over his chest, like they were undressing him with their eyes. Ethan began clearing the table, trying to change the subject. It failed.

"You know what we should do today?" Edward asked, standing up. He smiled at Holmes and Watson. "Something men do only when they come to terms with who they really are."

Jasper nodded. "Something they can only do with other men like themselves, and not feel ashamed."

Holmes scooted his chair back, thumping his foot against the floor. Watson held him down by the shoulder, staring at the others. "What's that?" he asked.

Jasper, Edward, and Ethan grinned at each other, and then at them. "Shopping."

--------------

"Wrong color." Ethan shook his head when Edward and Jasper dragged Watson out from behind the modesty screen. "Try a dark mustard."

They pulled him back behind the curtain, and Holmes watched with slight worry as their sillouhettes tore clothes from him, mercilessly spinning him around. He looked around, looking for a proper escape route.

"How about this one?" Edward peeked around the wall and held up another jacket.

Ethan cocked his head, rubbing his chin. He turned to Holmes. "What do you think?"

Holmes was already a few feet away. He turned around sheepishly. "What do _I_ think?" He looked at Watson, who looked so pathetic he almost laughed at him.

"Yes, you," Ethan replied. "I mean, you know him better than anybody else."

Holmes didn't even pick up on the comment being part of the ruse. He cocked his head, circling the doctor, ducking and raising his head. "It doesn't suit him at all."

"Why not?" Jasper scowled. Obviously he'd picked it out.

"Wat-_John_ is a strong, solid individual. Clothes are of little importance to him," the detective explained quickly. "They are a necessity, not a hobby. However-" he tugged on Watson's jacket sleeve. "Looks are very important to the naked eye. He needs neutral colors, but a tight fit. He needs people to know he means _business_." He stared at Watson.

"Wow." Edward mouthed. "That was beautiful, Sherlock." The others murmered in agreement.

"You heard him, Gents." Ethan clapped his hands. "Let's get on with it."

They happily dragged Watson back behind the screen. Ethan smiled at Holmes, and Holmes smiled back. When they emerged with Watson again, Holmes stopped smiling. His friend was dressed simply, but very elequent, very professional. His clothes fit a bit smugly, but it made him seem more masculine, despite his being a bit on the thin side.

"Don't you like it?" Edward asked sadly.

Holmes shook himself out of whatever deep concentration he was in. "Yes," he whispered, and then cleared his throat. "Very nice."

Watson was happy to see Holmes be dragged away. He wasn't as polite about being touched, but a couple of scuffs to the head and slaps to the wrist and his shadow stood obdiently behind the screen. Ethan poked his head out. "Doctor?"

"Mm?" Watson raised his eyebrows.

"What do you think?" The other man asked. "What should we dress him in?"

Watson raised his eyes, as if to stare at his own brain. "_Sherlock_...doesn't like to be restricted." He looked back at the detective, who they'd pulled out halfway, his face sulking. "He can't have tight-fitting clothes, they make him claustraphobic. " He touched his index finger to his chin, tapping it repeatedly. "He's not bland in the least, his colors have to stand out."

"But not too much," Holmes pointed out, secretly referring to being a sleuth.

" 'Course not, _Darling_," Watson smirked. He turned to the others. "He has to look fabulous, but without trying."

Jasper, Edward, and Ethan pulled it off and then some. Holmes emerged from the screen, tugging at his collar. His jacket and pants were long and baggy, a deep black, his shirt an extra bright white. His scarf was dotted with design, a rich red. The only thing not sexy and suave about him was his unkempt hair.

"This is the best we could do," Jasper shrugged.

A smile tugged at the corner of the doctor's lips. He walked over to smooth out the wrinkles in Holmes' sleeves, and whispered, "It's perfect."

Holmes looked up from fingering the dark material of his jacket and looked at Watson. Watson's smile was still there, but he looked away, biting his bottom lip.

----------------

"So you still think Winston was killed by somebody around here?" Watson asked that night as they prepared for bed.

"Mm." Holmes was listening, but not paying much attention. He was staring at himself in the full-length closet mirror, wearing his new jacket over his ragged shirt and sleep trousers. Watson noticed and chuckled slightly.

"Find any clues today?" He asked, climbing into bed.

"As a matter of fact," Holmes turned around quickly, almost spinning. "I did."

He began to pace around. "I found out that Richard kept a journal. A personal journal."

Watson looked around. "Where is it?"

"In his editing notes." Holmes retrieved a thick leather folder from under the bed. "You have to read it vertically. He wrote it that way, making sure every word of his editing notes began with the correct letter to form a word going _down_ the page."

He pointed to one of the scribbled notes.

_I find this novel most interesting.  
With all good writing comes bad competition.  
A setence should never begin with a pronoun.  
Never use the term 'stuff'.  
The grammar is good, but could be better.  
Yield in run-on sentences.  
Objective use of language is key.  
Under no circumstances, write side notes in edit-ready work._

" 'I want you'," Watson said, reading it correctly. "Do all of his notes do this?"

"Some of them," Holmes said, closing the binder. "The fake ones, anyway. Winston didn't want somebody to know something about somebody else."

"So you think he was having an affair?" Watson's brows furrowed skeptically.

"He wouldn't need to," Holmes shrugged. "He was a brilliant, successful man. He lived two lives, Watson. One here in Cleveland, and the other in the _real_ world." He climbed into bed, still sitting up. "He could have anybody he wanted-man or woman. He was a master of deception."

Watson nodded. "So the killer definitely had a motive, but why the other victims?"

"All in good time, Watson." Holmes yawned. "All in good time."

He laid down and Watson stared at him. "I won't wake up to find you back at the brothel, will I?"

"My work there is done." The detective's eyes didn't even open.

Watson shifted, and Holmes knew something else was on his mind. Something he wanted to say. He rolled over, staring up at the doctor. "Out with it then."

"I just feel like we're not always on equal footing, that's all," Watson confessed, leaning back on his hands. "You never tell me your plans, and just expect me to be alright with whatever happens to you."

"Aren't you?" Holmes sounded confused.

"Holmes..." Watson groaned. His voice was almost a whisper. "You know I'm not."

They were silent for a moment, and Holmes nodded, looking down at the blankets. "Alright then," he said quietly. "From now on, no secrets between us."

Watson thrust out his hand. Holmes shook it. They both laid down, and Watson reached over to turn out the lamp. After a few moments, he heard his friend's breathing become slow and deep. He tossed and turned, knowing Holmes was a heavy enough sleeper and it wouldn't bother him. He sat up, staring into the dark. Silently swearing, he laid back down. Minutes later he was sitting up again.

He stared down at Holmes, and looked away, shaking his head. Finally, he licked his lips, biting them, and slowly leaned down. He had just started to brush his lips over the other man's, when Holmes shot up, scaring him so badly he fell off the bed.

"Incredible," Holmes mused, wide-eyed, staring into space.

"What?" Watson climbed back onto the bed, rubbing the back of his head painfully.

"One of Richard's ruse-editing notes," Holmes explained quickly, climbing out of the bed. "They spelled out the sentence 'Things I'll never say to you, only to those who don't care'." He clapped his hands and turned around, grinning at Watson. "That's why the others were murdered. He _told_ them whatever secret he was keeping that got him killed."

Watson nodded. "Ah."

Holmes climbed back into bed. "I apologize for waking you." He fell back asleep almost instantly.

By that point, all courage had drained from the doctor, and he rolled over, facing the wall. Sleep came, but a long time later.

To Be Continued....


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"You're up early," Jasper mused, entering the kitchen to find Holmes pouring himself a cup of coffee.

The detective briefly turned around, and then went back to his cup. "Yes."

Jasper continued to stare at him, sliding into one of the chairs. "Mind pouring me a cup?"

"Certainly." Holmes brought two cups to the table. He sat down across from him, and an awkward fog floated between them.

Jasper sipped at his hot liquid, pulling the cup back and licking his lips. "Richard preferred black coffee too."

Holmes nodded, glugging his own black coffee down. The sun was just beginning to peek through the curtains, the morning air cool and pleasant.

"So tell me about you and John," Jasper said, waving his hand around in a semi-circle. "You two seem to have such an odd relationship."

Holmes tapped his fingers against his cup. Could he possibly know? Had he already dug through the nest of lies, and figured out the truth?

"We're compatible," he said. "We balance each other out. John is sensible, realistic-he has an eye for caution and I don't know the meaning of it."

Jasper stared down into the contents of his cup. "Doesn't that ever grow old? Always being told what to do?"

"Well, without him," Holmes said simply. "I'm almost positive I'd been dead three years ago."

Speaking of which, Watson entered the room, eyeing the stove and then the cup in the detective's hand. He sighed, pouring himself a cup. "You're going to be bouncing off the bloody walls," he muttered.

The detective ignored his comment and said cheerfully, "John, Dear, I think we should go into town today."

Watson made a face, moving the cup away from his lips. "God, Holmes! Why don't you just eat the grounds?"

Jasper narrowed his eyes at the doctor. He stood up, and sauntered over to the stove. "I can milk it, if you like," he offered.

Watson shook his head. "No, it's alright." He turned to Holmes. "When do you want to leave?"

------------

"So we're going to Winston's office?" Watson asked when they headed out. "What for exactly?"

"Something there is bound to tell us more about his life," the detective replied briskly. "His _other_ life."

The office building was locked, naturally, but Holmes carefully stepped aside and Watson kicked the door in. The inside was cluttered, a sea of loose papers and books. Atop the desk in the far corner, if one could even make out a desk, was a single red rose perched high on a stack of notes. Holmes picked it up, smelled it, and turned it over in his hands, inspecting it closely.

"Somebody's been here," he muttered casually, setting the flower down. "Somebody with their own key."

"Or Winston's key," Watson suggested.

"Or Winston's key," Holmes agreed. He moved to the corner between the bookself and the desk, moving things around on the floor with his foot. He paused, and knelt down, picking something up between his index finger and thumb. A rope.

"Watson," he said quietly.

The doctor moved his way and took the rope from him, studying it. He nodded. "Same kind he'd been restrained with."

He looked around and pointed to a large stack of notes, tied together with the same rope. Holmes glanced in the same direction and said, "The killer definitely had a motive."

In his mind, he saw it. _A faceless individual, frantically sorting through the stack of notes, their hands trembling with rage. They pick up the rope that bundled the stack, and storm away._

"I think we need to find out more about Richard's relationship with each of his housemates," he said.

Watson frowned at the piece of rope in his hand. "You don't think..."

"We're not jumping to conclusions," Holmes assured him, but his face told just the opposite.

--------------

After dinner, Holmes suggested a wine-gab, producing an expensive bottle of wine he and Watson had picked up on their way home. They figured the gentlemen would be a bit more truthful with loose tongues.

---------------

"Your company is most enjoyable, lads," Edward slurred after a few glasses.

"Indeed." Ethan raised his own glass. "Cheers."

They all leaned in and clinked their drinks together. Holmes took a sip and said, "And a special toast to Richard Winston, who could not be with us on this beautiful night."

"Speaking of Richard," Watson spoke up, carefully rehearsed. "What was he like?"

Edward leaned back in his chair. "_Darling_," he said.

"Very nice," Ethan agreed, nodding.

"My best friend." Jasper gulped down the rest of what remained in his glass and poured himself another.

Holmes looked between Ethan and Jasper. "He was _your_ best friend?"

"They moved here together," Ethan explained. "But not as a couple, just a pair of friends." He laughed. "Sometimes I got a bit jealous."

"Ah, now." Edward leaned over and kissed Jasper on the cheek. "There was nothing to be jealous of, old boy."

"So you-" Holmes pointed to Ethan. "Were with Richard, and you two-" he moved his hand between Jasper and Edward.

"Yes." Edward bobbed his head up and down. "I was mad about Jasper for months, but he teased me and teased me." He leaned on his partner's shoulder.

"It's difficult," Jasper said. "Being in love with someone and they don't love you back."

"But you _do_ love me back," Edward slurred, titlting Jasper's head so he could kiss him.

"Yes," Jasper whispered, parting their lips briefly before kissing him again. "Yes, I do."

Ethan swirled his wine. "So tell us your story, gents."

Holmes and Watson simultaneously took a drink. They set their glasses down and looked at each other, hoping they could quickly conjure up a story together.

"It's hard to explain," Watson said, clearing his throat. "Our courtship snuck up on us."

"We didn't even know we had feelings for each ohter," Holmes shrugged. When Watson looked at him strangely, he quickly added, "feelings like _that_."

"I figured it was something like that," Ethan said smiling, a twinkle in his eye.

"So what does your bedtime behavior entail?" Edward asked, smiling slyly.

Holmes and Watson glanced at each other again. Watson picked up his glass, leaving the conversation to his master-of-disguise partner.

"Well..." Holmes faltered.

"You don't have to answer that," Ethan said, frowning at Edward.

"I imagine they-" Edward tipsily sang out and Jasper covered his mouth, laughing.

-------------

Watson entered the bedroom, towel-drying his hair from the bath, and looked at Holmes, shaking his head. The detective was on the floor, his wrists and ankles bound with rope.

"Oh, Watson." He inched up the wall, sitting up. "I'm glad you're back. I was trying to test the strength of the rope, deciding if Winston was conscious when he was restrained."

"And your conclusion?" The doctor sat on the bed, still staring at him.

"I wouldn't know." Holmes shrugged, the best he could anyway. "I'm a perfectionist in this field, and I always tend to tie the ropes too tightly." He fidgeted. "The way a capture should be done."

Watson nodded. "Mmhmm." He laid down. "Good luck with that then."

Holmes smiled and nodded. "Thank you." He squirmed and struggled against the rough material, cursing under his breath. Occassionally he would glance up at Watson.

"Would you mind...?" He finally asked, somewhat meekly.

Watson rolled off the bed and moved to untie him. As he worked at the knots, grunting, he said, "You know, I should wonder about you. I really should." He let his head roll back, muttering about how tight the knots were. "But I don't. I've completely stopped questioning your methods."

He managed to shred the cord a bit, it being thin to begin with, but it was still fastened tightly, chaffing the detective's wrists. He pulled back, sitting on his knees, and laughed a little. "Jesus," he muttered.

"Perhaps a knife." Holmes peeked around him, eyeing the doctor's walking stick, where a steel blade was hidden beneath the wood.

"No." Watson sounded irritated, still working at the ropes. "I can get it."

Holmes let his eyes move upward, trying to be patient with his friend's stubborn pride. He looked back down, his brows furrowing slightly when he felt hot breath on his hands. Watson had taken to trying to bite the remaining strands apart.

"Watson-"

The doctor held up a hand to silence him, his mouth preoccupied. A knock at the door sounded and Edward and Jasper popped in, swaying slightly.

"Well, hello, hello!" Edward laughed.

Watson quickly raised his head, his face turning red. Jasper's brows furrowed. He eyed the rope. "What the hell's going on in here?"

"Dearest," Edward whispered, utterly sloshed. "Let's not pry now."

"He tied himself up," Watson explained, groaning slightly.

Holmes stared at him wide-eyed, accusingly, and shook his head quickly. "Don't lie, John."

Watson stared at him. Holmes looked at the others.

"He doesn't like people to know about..." he wriggled his fingers. "what gets him _excited_." Before Watson could say anything he added, "It's a military thing."

"Ooh..." Edward nodded, his eyes still glossy with booze. He giggled. "Right."

"Fascinating," Jasper said dryly. "Well, we just dropped in to bid you both goodnight."

"Goodnight." Holmes smiled sweetly. "Tell him goodnight, John."

Watson picked up something in his voice and Holmes leaned forward and whispered, "Slap me. Now."

Without even thinking about it, the doctor slapped him. Holmes closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Fine," he said loudly. He turned to the others. "He can't wait, I'm sorry."

"No, no." Edward grinned. "We're leaving. Pleasant dreams, you two."

When they left, Watson exploded. "What the hell was that?"

"You could have added something like, 'take it, bitch'," Holmes shrugged. "Honestly, Doctor, be a little convincing."

" 'Take it...' "Watson shook his head in disbelief. "What in the bloody hell goes on in your head?"

He walked over to his cane and retrieved the blade. He cut the ropes apart, and wordlessly climbed into bed. Holmes rubbed his sore wrists, looking at him. "Are you upset with me?"

Watson shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "No," he said quietly.

---------------

Watson waited until Holmes was good and asleep to doctor his wrists and ankles. After he did so, he leaned back, cocking his head, admiring his work. The detective snored faintly, scratching his nose in his sleep. Watson closed his eyes, and leaned down, brushing his lips over his. He pulled back, feeling the heat in his face, and leaned down to do it again.

"Watson...?" Holmes groggily muttered through the kiss, opening his eyes slightly.

To Be Continued...


	6. Chapter 6

And then Watson exploded into confetti.

---------------

**Chapter 6**

**Author's note:** Just kidding (although that would be interesting to see). Anywho, getting close to the end. Enjoy the next chapter. Thanks for all of the feedback too. And please be patient with my spelling/grammar errors. Not my strong points.

------------

Watson pulled away quickly, turning his head and squeezing the back of his neck with his hand. His breathing was shallow. Holmes sat up slowly.

"Watson?"

"I'm sorry," the doctor muttered, moving his hand from his neck to cover his face. "I'm so sorry, Holmes."

The detective looked around, absent-mindedly scratching something itchy on his forearm. He looked down to see the bandages his friend had applied some time ago. He looked at the back of Watson's head.

"I thought we agreed that we wouldn't keep secrets from each ohter anymore," he said quietly.

Watson didn't look at him, but instead, the ceiling. "Look, I don't know what I was thinking." He removed himself from the bed and paced back and forth, finally stopping, half across the room. "I'm so sorry."

His face was flushed, more humiliation piling on him than it ever had. He leaned one side of his body against the wall, staring at the wardrobe that was slightly ajar. He heard the mattress squeak, and soon felt Holmes place a shoulder on his hand. He still wouldn't look at him. He _couldn't_ look at him.

Holmes rubbed his back, clearing his throat. Watson didn't blame him for the silence. He wouldn't know how to handle such a situation either. Why did every moment have to be so hard? Every moment with the person-the _only_ person who understood him, through and through.

"Watson." His voice was surprisingly soft. Not a trace of fear. "Watson, look at me, please." He tapped his fingers against his chin. "Please."

Watson sullenly turned, his gaze still averted. Holmes leaned forward, kissing the corner of his mouth, slowly moving to cover his lips. Meanwhile, his hands were busy finding the doctor's, threading their fingers together. Watson felt his stomach flip, and he kissed him back, pressing against him, aware that Holmes wanted him the way he was suddenly willing to admit that he wanted Holmes.

They kissed for a long time, their lips gracing each other's mouths, jawlines, necks, hands...it suddenly seemed like the most natural thing in the world, and the world-for the time being-only exisisted in each other's touches. They carried their newfound revelation to the bed, and Watson pushed Holmes away from him, panting slightly.

"I've never..." he began, unsure of how to word it. "With another man..."

"How ironic that you say that in the boarding house nestled in London's secret homosexual commonality," the detective whispered, trying to bring his lips back down to doctor's.

Watson shook his head, still keeping him at bay. "Holmes..." he brushed his fingers over the other man's warm, calloused hand. His brows furrowed slightly. "I did a shoddy job on those bandages."

Holmes lowered his head, chuckling. When he looked back up, he was smiling sweetly. He rolled over, laying beside Watson. "We don't have to do anything."

"Tonight, you mean?" Watson said quietly, nudging his head against his friend's.

"Can I ask you something?" Holmes turned to him.

"Mm?"

"Why _me_? If you don't mind my asking?" He stared up at the ceiling. "I mean, I understand that you _tolerate_ me, even _enjoy_ my company..." he paused. "But _love_ me?"

"Who says I _love_ you?" Watson pulled his upper body up to lean over and kiss the detective.

"I figured you didn't," Holmes sighed, and then let out a fake 'hmm' sound, looking away.

Watson laughed and slapped him lightly on the arm. He laid back down. "I do _love_ you," he said. "I just didn't know how much until tonight."

They stared at each other, and kissed again. They wouldn't do anymore tonight. The kissing was a big enough jump for the both of them, and they were swimming in bliss already. They listened to each other breathe, Holmes' becoming slow and deep first. Watson turned to him, and drowsily asked, "Holmes?"

"....mm?"

"Do you love me?"

The detective opened his eyes, blinking heavily. He nodded. Watson leaned over and kissed him again. "Goodnight then."

------------

Watson sipped his morning tea, eyeing the paper intently. He was so lost in it that there was hardly any room for his cup to reach his lips. Edward, Jasper, and Ethan watched him silently. Holmes entered the kitchen, only half dressed, his hair disheveled, and yawned loudly. Every morning before, he had never left the room without being fully dressed.

"Morning," he yawned. He padded over to Watson and poked the doctor's cheek with his index finger. Watson looked up, and grinned.

"Good morning," he said quietly.

Holmes leaned down and they kissed on the lips. Holmes then sat beside him, and stared into space, his eyes glazed with sleep. He absent-mindedly reached across the table to take a croissant, and chewed it mechanically.

"How was your night?" Ethan asked polietly, bringing some chopped melon to the table.

"Good." Watson smiled, returning to his paper.

"Sherlock?" Ethan eyed the other man.

Holmes raised his eyes, his cheeks filled with pastry he was forgetting to swallow on time, crumbs spread over his lips. Watson rolled his eyes, smiling.

"I asked if you slept well," Ethan said quietly, trying not to laugh.

"Oh." He swallowed. "Yes. Very well, thank you."

"I have such a bloody hangover," Edward groaned. He looked at Jasper. "Why do you always let me drink myself into a stupor like that?"

"Who am I?" Jasper snorted, placing his own throbbing head on the tabletop. "Your mother?"

Edward looked away, scoffing. "Of course not. My mother is _prettier_."

------------

" 'I can't be with you, I'm so sorry', " Watson read aloud, marking the first letter of each sentence, scanning his eyes down the page. He looked at the next page. " 'You'll understand when I'm gone. ' "

He looked over at Holmes, who was standing by the window of the office, his eyes filled with intense thought. He muttered something to himself and browse through the papers in his own hands. "It's quite a mystery."

They both looked up when they heard the door unlock and open. Jasper stepped in, and dropped what he was holding. A single red rose. He looked between them.

"Can I help you?" He asked.

"Simply working on the case," Holmes assured him, looking back at his papers.

"You won't find any evidence in here," Jasper said, picking the rose back up and setting it down on the desk. Holmes eyed it, and then Jasper.

"Do you have a key?" Watson asked, blatantly making sure Jasper knew he was staring right at it in his hand.

"It's Richard's," the other man said cooly. He moved to stand across from them, folding his arms over his chest.

"It's funny that _you_ should put that there," Holmes said, gesturing towards the Rose. "And not Ethan."

"Shows how much he cares, right?" His smile was icy, but slightly sad. "He was Ethan's _lover_, but he was _my_ soulmate. I cared about him more than anybody in this world." His voice lowered. "We grew up together, and came out together."

Watson hated to pry, but he couldn't help himself. He asked quietly, "Did you have feelings for him? Romantic ones?"

Jasper shook his head, chuckling slightly. "Everyone has a secret." He wiped at his eyes, blinking back tears stubbornly. "Everybody comforted Ethan, but his death hurt me the most."

Watson and Holmes stood silently. Jasper looked out the window, and then down at the floor. "Please don't tell Ethan that I come here," he pleaded softly.

"We won't," Watson promised.

"Thank you."

To Be Continued...


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Holmes and Watson returned later in the evening, and as they walked through the door, Ethan's face lit up. He was setting the table fancier than it was normally set. Edward and Jasper were on the sofa, nicely dressed. Jasper caught their gaze, and scratched his head awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably.

"I was beginning to wonder about your whereabouts," Ethan chirped. "Get yourselves cleaned up! We're having company tonight!"

Holmes and Watson looked at each other, and then back at Ethan.

" 'Company'?" Holmes repeated. He shrugged casually. "Anybody we know?"

Ethan laughed as it were a joke, and gave him a hearty slap on the back. "Trust me, you'll love them." He returned to setting the table, humming cheerily to himself.

Holmes and Watson started for the stairs, and Jasper stood up, pretending to smooth out his clothes. He made his way over to them, his gaze averted. "Thanks again," he muttered.

Watson and Holmes only nodded, continuing on their way. They washed up and dressed in their new outfits, Holmes standing in front of the mirror for several minutes, adjusting his jacket.

"Watson?" he asked, turning away from his reflection. "Who do you suppose this company is?"

"Neighbors?" Watson shrugged, hardly paying attention.

"I wonder if these guests will help us further in the case," the detective mused. "Our suspects are dwindling."

"So we're ruling Jasper out?" Watson looked up from adjusting his shirt collar.

"We're not ruling anybody out," his friend replied. "One never eliminates possibilities until they are proven futile."

---------------

The five of them waited in the parlor, the clock ticking loudly on the wall. Edward chewed his fingernails lazily, Jasper pretended to be sleeping, and Ethan filled a small bowl with nuts and dried fruit.

A knock sounded at the door and he jumped up to open it. Four visitors entered, two men, and two women. Holmes and Watson were surprised. Nobody would have guessed straights mingled with gays, let alone on Cleveland Street.

"Anna!" Ethan kissed one of the women on the cheek. "Georgina!" He did the same to the other. The others stood up and moved over to hug and kiss the guests.

"How was your trip?" Edward asked one of the men.

"Pleasant," he replied. "Paris is lovely, but I still prefer home." They all laughed, it was obviously some kind of inside joke, and the new faces turned curiously to Holmes and Watson.

"Oh!" Edward clapped his hands. "Allow me to introduce you to our new flatmates, Dr. John Watson-" he pulled him forward. "And Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"John Watson?" One of the women squinted skeptically, and then smiled. "Oh, yes! My ex-husband went to you when he hammered a nail straight through his thumb! Edgar Mortan!"

Watson only smiled and nodded, pretending to remember. He had so many patients, he could never remember them all by name. He took her hand and kissed it.

"I really wish you'd have drove one straight through his heart," Georgina said. For such a petite woman, her voice was sharp and almost threatning. She gazed cooly at Watson and Holmes. "Babies."

"Beg pardon?" Holmes' brows furrowed, his smile only half there.

Georgina let her eyes roll back in her head, but she was smiling. "I can always tell when somebody's new to _Cleveland_." She looked them up and down. "You're brand new to the _alternative_ lifestyle."

"Darling." Anna touched her arm, chuckling nervously. "Remember, we talked about this before we left."

It finally dawned on Holmes and Watson who these two women were, and they had to swallow to keep their jaws from dropping. Never had they heard of homosexual women. They were almost a myth.

"I told you not to take her into your home," one of the men told Anna, laughing. "She's a beast." He shook Holmes and Watson's hands. "I'm Harland Dewald." He narrowed his eyes to Georgina. "Miss _Lady's_ ex-husband."

Watson blinked, shaking his head a bit. "Her..."

"I know, I know!" Harland laughed. "You're probably wondering, 'what kind of sane man marries a crazy lass like her'!" He gave the doctor a hearty slap on the back. "Am I right, Lad?"

Georgina smirked at them again. "I can see it all over your faces." She turned to Anna. "I need a cigarette, love."

"You don't," Anna sighed. She looked at Ethan. "Shall we sit down?"

"Of course." Ethan led them into the dining room. "I've prepared a fabulous dinner."

"Beef Wellington, I hope," the man who wasn't Harland said, licking his lips. "I do love your Beef Wellington, Ethan."

"Of course, Louis," Ethan replied.

They all sat down at the table, and Holmes and Watson shifted awkwardly. Holmes looked between the guests, calculating things in his head. By the way Anna and Georgina spoke to each other, they were together. By the way Louis and Harland touched each other, they were together.

"John and Sherlock are amazing," Ethan said, pouring everybody wine. "I'm so glad we turned down that other pair. So finicky and whiney."

"You needed the rent," Harland said, shrugging. "Poor Richard, bless his soul." He glanced at Ethan. "How are you doing, by the way?"

Ethan sighed and waved his hand in a so-so fashion. "I'm getting along alright." He tapped his fingers against the wine bottle. "Nobody loved Richard like I did."

Holmes and Watson simultaneously narrowed their eyes to look at Jasper. He prickled, but continued to glug his wine like nothing was wrong.

Anna placed a hand over her heart and reached over the table to pat Ethan's hand. "I'm so sorry, Dear," she said quietly. "There are just some cruel individuals out there."

"He would have wanted us to be happy," Ethan smiled weakly. "He wouldn't want us to dwell on the past."

They ate and talked, Holmes watching them carefully. He studied the women first, every little detail making an imprint in his mind. Anna held her silverware limply, a wispy aura about her, like a wilted flower. She was tall and broad-shouldered, but hunched over, obviously self-conscious to some degree. Georgina was small, but rigid as a board, gripping everything her hands came in contact with. She made a comment to everything said, whether it be aloud or muttered to herself.  
Harland was portly, pink-faced, and laughed a lot. He didn't seem to have a mean bone in his body, and seemed to think everything that anybody said was some kind of joke. Louis was muscular and handsome, his eyes always squinting, even when he was smiling.

"You know," Louis said, waving his fork. "I'm glad I told Richard to move here with you lot, regardless of what happened to him."

Holmes turned his head so fast he risked whiplash. "_You_ suggested they live here?"

"Richard wasn't one to hide," Louis explained. "He was proud of who he was, and it often got him into trouble. He moved from village to village, gaining success through his work only to have it all crash down when he kissed another man in the street." He sighed. " 'Louis', I said to him one day. 'You should move to Cleveland Street'." He smiled at Jasper. "Tell them what he said."

Jasper stopped chewing and looked up. He swallowed and said quietly, "Not unless Jasper comes with me."

Louis and Harland roared with laughter, but Holmes and Watson could see nothing about the comment seemed funny to Jasper. In fact, a trace of hurt crossed his face briefly before he returned to eating.

"He didn't even know Jasper fancied men at the time," Louis chuckled. "He just though he had an extremely supportive mate!"

"So how exactly do you know Ethan?" Watson asked him.

"You know everybody in the neighborhood, chap!" Louis scoffed. "God, Georgina was right. You two are hatchlings."

Georgina smiled over her wine glass. She said, "Ethan has a knack for taking orphans under his wing. Jasper and Richard were just lost ducklings at the time."

"And then Ethan fell in love!" Harland bellowed. "It's like a fairytale!"

"I did worry about your problems," Anna said, chasing a piece of meat around her plate with her fork. "I do hope you made ammeds before his demise."

Holmes glanced at Ethan. " 'Problems'?"

Ethan shifted uncomfortably. "We had a few fallouts now and then," he muttered.

"Is that all it was?" Georgina raised a brow. "He came to us crying more than once, Dear."

Watson and Holmes listened intently. The detective watched something flicker in Ethan's eyes. Something he'd never seen before. _Anger_.

"Look, every couple has their skeletons in the closet," Ethan laughed, sounding irritated. "I loved Richard, and he loved me." He covered his eyes for a moment. "Could we please not discuss our bad times when he's not here to defend himself? Or me?"

"Sorry..." Anna whispered, placing her napkin gently on her plate.

Jasper poured himself another glass of wine. He chugged it down and slammed the glass down on the tabletop. "Well, he's not coming back, old boy," he chuckled darkly. He stood up, pushing his chair in. "So now's as good a time as any to discuss _anything_ about him."

"Jasper!" Edward tugged at his arm. "Please, not tonight! We have guests!"

"I'm sorry you're jealous." Ethan's tone actually sounded cold. "But I'm not going to argue with you, Jasper. No matter how many childish fights you pick with me."

Jasper looked around, shaking his head, and stormed upstairs, taking two steps at a time. Nobody said anything for a moment, and Georgina broke the silence. "See, this is why I don't sleep with men." She sipped her wine. "They're such women."

----------------

"What a night," Watson sighed, collapsing onto the pillow and massaging his eyes with his fingertips. He hadn't even changed into his night clothes, only taken off his jacket and untucked his shirt. "Have you ever seen such a feud? At dinner, I mean?"

"Of course," Holmes said casually, untucking his own shirt. "Remember when we caught the colonel's wife having dinner with the houseboy in the same restaurant her husband was having dinner with the maid?"

"Oh, right." Watson nodded. "That was amusing." He sat up. "But still...do you think Richard's murders could actually be connected to one of his housemates?"

"I found this today," Holmes replied, producing a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. "I was going to give it to you when we returned home, but didn't have a chance because we had to prepare for dinner."

Watson held out his hand and Holmes handed it to him. " 'Goodbye, and I love you' ." He read aloud, tracing his finger down the page. It was one of Richard's coded notes.

His brows furrowed, and he looked up. "He knew he was going to die?"

"What I'm thinking," Holmes said, beginning to pace. "Is that Richard Winston's killer...was Richard Winston..."

Watson sighed. "We found him tied up and clubbed to death." He thought quickly. "And two of his friends were killed too."

"He may not have killed himself, necessarily," the detective mused. "But he certainly knew it was coming, and I'll wager that he planned it."

"Why would he do that?"

"He may have not have planned it _intentionally_," Holmes said, releasing the idea into the air with his hand, staring up at the ceiling. "Say you have a priceless glass figurine, and you set it out on the windowsill for everybody to see." He looked at Watson. "What could happen to it?"

Watson shrugged. "It could get stolen...broken..."

"Exactly!" Holmes picked up his violin and cast his fiddlestick at him. "But was that your intention? To have it broken or stolen?" He raised his brows.

"So Richard _accidentally _caused his own murder," the doctor said. "But there still is a murderer."

"That is the second half of the mystery," Holmes said, plucking a few notes.

"Well, could we sleep on it?" Watson said, eyeing the violin wearily. He yawned and closed his eyes. "I really should get back up and take these clothes off."

He felt Holmes dip down onto the bed, but he wasn't beside him. Goosebumps rose to his skin as he heard the detective whisper in his ear, "You don't have to get up to do that. Allow me."

To Be Continued...


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Author's note:** Okay, I cannot write a sex scene. There's my dirty little secret...or lack of...I wrote as raunchy as I can, and I'm sorry I couldn't do better :(

Watson started to protest, already starting to sit up, but was moved back down both by the pressing of Holmes' palm against his chest, and his tongue trailing around in his ear. He groaned, resting his head back on the pillow, a hitch forming in his breath.

"No, Holmes," he whispered, shaking his head slightly.

Holmes muttered something between kissing and licking. He had currently found a sensitve spot on the doctor's neck. Watson pulled away, pushing himself into a sitting position. He placed a hand to the hot, wet spot below his ear and above his shoulder, still panting. Holmes drew back, sitting on his knees.

"If we do this," Watson finally said, brushing his fingers over Holmes' hand. "Nothing can change between us." He knitted their fingers together, his voice lowering. "Even if _this-_ he waved his free hand between them."doesn't work out."

Holmes opened his mout to speak, but closed it, changing his mind. He looked down at their hands, and nodded. He looked back up. "Nothing changes."

Watson nodded. "Alright then." He laid back down. "Carry on."

Holmes did so, with pleasure, and tried his best to move slowly, his hands that undressed the doctor following his mouth that caressed him. Watson did the same, his hands firmly grasping at Holmes, his mouth finding places that made the detective breath heavily. They both surprised each other, without words for once, and they were happy to take each other to those places.

"Watson..." Holmes pulled away from his lips. "Just a moment."

Watson's brows furrowed slightly, and he opened his mouth. Holmes placed a finger to it. "Just one moment. That's all I ask."

Before the doctor could answer, Holmes rolled off the bed, taking the bedsheet with him, wrapping it around his waist. He ran out of the room. Watson sat up, wiping sweat from his forehead, very confused, and very annoyed. He heard him travel up the stairs to the third story floor, and then back down. When he returned, he was holding a small bottle of oil.

Watson closed his eyes. "_Where _did you get that?" he asked, already dreading the response.

"Edward," the detective shrugged casually, climbing back into the bed.

"Holmes!"

"I told him we ran out," he explained, completely misunderstanding Watson's irritation. He unscrewed the cap and smelled it. Watson took it from him. Holmes looked at him.

"Lie down." The doctor stared back at him, nodding back at the pillow.

Holmes looked uneasily at the pillow. "Me?"

Watson took him by the arm and tossed him there. He manuevered himself between his legs, ripping the bundled sheet from his torso. He sniffed the bottle of oil. He then took a little between his index finger and thumb, rubbing them together. After deciding it was safe enough, he began to apply a generous amount to his hands.

"I really don't know what qualifies you for _that_ position," Holmes said, a little dejectectly, and a little nervously.

Watson lowered himself, dragging his tongue from just below the detective's navel all the way to his mouth. He leaned into his ear and whispered, "Because I'm the doctor."

* * *

They were both made feverish by the sex, and afterward, panting heavily, holding their heads with their hands just for a moment. Watson collapsed next to Holmes, still partially on top of him, and clumsily moved his mouth around to find Holmes, kissing him just as sloppily.

The detective ran a hand through his dark hair, damp with sweat. "Well then..."

"Holmes?" Watson mutterd. "Remember what you told me Irene said about you?" He touched the detective's nose with his finger. "In bed?"

Holmes frowned, sighing. "That I was bad," he said flatly.

"She was terribly mistaken," Watson whispered, grinning.

To Be Continued....

**Author's note: **Short chapter, I know, but I actually have a very busy work schedule this week (I'm covering a co-worker's shift as well as my own) so I decided to go ahead and write _something_ for this fic. With what little free time I'm going to have, I want to update _Sweet Silver Lining. _I miss my Sophie :(  
Thanks again so much for the feedback as well. I had no idea this fic would gain so much popularity. I actually consider myself a pretty lousy writer. hahaahahah. I will update later in the week, after a few SSL chapters.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Watson was a doctor. He knew a lot about the human body, symptoms of ailments...yet he didn't understand why he was filled with a crackling, antsy felling when he awoke the next morning. It wasn't an unpleasant jumpy feeling, just the opposite, in fact. He opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was Holmes. The detective was still asleep, his mouth open, snoring loudly. The doctor smiled and ran his index finger across some of the stubble around Holmes' mouth.

They had agreed that nothing would change between them, but Watson wasn't so sure he could keep that promise. His _own_ promise. If things didn't work out like this, he would just have to go ahead and kill himself.

Holmes stirred and opened his eyes. Watson leaned in and kissed him. "Good morning," he said quietly.

"Is it morning?" The detective shot up. He pushed the doctor away from him and climbed out bed, gathering his clothes off the floor. Watson sat up, confused.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"I think we may have solved the case," Holmes said, pulling his pants up.

"The case?" Watson had to think a minute to even remember that's why they were there in the first place. He blinked several times, nodding. "Oh. Right."

"We need to go to Richard's office," the detective explained.

"Right now?" Watson laid back down. "We have all day."

Holmes stared at him for a moment. "Suit yourself." He threw on his shoes and left the room.

Watson sat back up, trying to sort out his thoughts and feelings, which were just starting to come back to earth from Cloud Nine. Had he really expected him and Holmes to roll around in bed all day? He could slap himself for thinking like such a livesick school girl with a crush.

He dressed quickly and made his way downstairs. Holmes was already gone, Jasper informed him. The doctor thanked him and left the house, heading for the office. Jasper followed him out.

"Let me come with you," he said.

-----------------

Holmes was already in the office, holding a stack of papers. He briefly raised his eyes at Jasper and Watson. "Well, Watson," he said, rubbing his chin. "You can rest easy knowing that we've been renting a boardhouse floor from a murderer."

"What?" Watson looked at Jasper, who didn't look all that surprised.

"Richard Winston's killer is Ethan James," Holmes said, throwing the papers onto the desktop. "Of course, the coded notes were helpful, but what I didn't realize, until last night, was that there were real codes, and false codes."

"Ethan killed him?" Jasper sounded like he could care less about codes. He staggered backwards, collapsing into the desk chair.

"The notes were addressed to you," the detective told him. "Richard obviously harboured feelings for you as well, but as your dinner guests mentioned last night, Ethan has anger issues. He discovered the notes, and shortly after found out from Richard's two aquaintances that he was planning to leave him and confess his love for."

He began pacing, picking up random papers and sifting through their texts. "Ethan murdered his friends first, purely out of rage as they were both less battered than Richard. He then waited for Richard to leave the pub the following night, and killed him."

"It couldn't have been Ethan," Jasper said quietly, shaking his head. "Ethan _loved_ him."

"Ethan does a lot with his hands," the detective continued. "I've watched him closely. It would only be natural that he couldn't tie a rope correctly or thrash somebody without restraining them."

The door of the office opened, and they all turned to see Ethan. He looked at Holmes, then Watson, and finally Jasper. He didn't say a word as he made his way over to the desk, picking up a dying rose.

"Very good, Chaps," he said. "Well done."

Jasper watched as he removed a relolver from his pocket. Watson closed his eyes, remembering his own gun was under the bed back at the boardhouse.

"I loved Richard," Ethan said, adjusting the weapon. "I fell in love with him at first sight, and I thought he loved me." He looked at Jasper again. "But I knew better."

"Why not me then?" Jasper's tone was dark. "You should have killed me."

"You think that would have changed his mind?" Ethan aimed the pistol at him. "It doesn't matter anyway, I'm going to kill you anyway." He turned to Holmes and Watson. "You should have left the case alone, left Cleveland Street alone." His gaze moved straight to Holmes. "Sherlock Holmes...like I didn't know who you are."

"You don't want to do this," Watson informed him slowly.

"No, I really didn't," Ethan agreed. "I had really grown fond of you two." He quickly turned around and shot Jasper. When he did so, Holmes jumped him, pommeling him to the ground. Watson rushed towards Jasper, catching him just as he started to fall. Blood stained the side of his shirt.

"Easy does it," he said, helping him to the desk chair and unbuttoning the shirt. He kept Holmes in the corner of his eye, watching him fight.

Ethan managed to remove himself from the detective, and surprisingly backed him all the way to the wall, the gun barrel pressed against his forehead. He turned to Watson. "Leave him alone," he growled, looking at Jasper.

Watson stood up quickly and Holmes shook his quickly, mouthing 'no' to him. He wanted all of Watson's attention on Jasper. The doctor looked between Jasper and Ethan.

"Tell me, John," Ethan said, grabbing Holmes' face, giving it a good shake. "Which one would prefer to save? Your beloved friend, or the whore you just met only weeks ago?"

Jasper slid out of the chair, slumping to the floor, blood dripping out of his mouth. He blinked heavily, his head bobbing up and down. Watson glanced at him and ordered, "Stay with us, Jasper."

"Don't talk to him!" Ethan ordered. "He's filth! Nothing but bloody filth!" He seemed to be filled with rage all over again, and pulled the trigger. Just as he did so, Watson shoved him, preventing Holmes from being killed just in the knick of time. Ethan kicked him, and fired his gun again, shooting Watson. The doctor held his arm, hissing in pain. Holmes got to his feet, and threw a punch to Ethan's face, and then one to his torso. Ethan dropped the gun, doubling over, and started to pick it up. Holmes grabbed his arm and twisted it. He kicked the gun out of reach. He stood over Ethan, and Ethan stared up at him.

"If you'd truly loved Richard," he said. "You would have let him go."

--------------

"So how is he?" Edward asked when Holmes and Watson returned to the house from the hospital.

"He's going to be alright," Watson said. "Luckily Ethan doesn't know how to fire a gun properly."

"Or know the location of vital organs." Holmes added, glancing at Watson's bandaged bicep.

Edward only nodded, sitting down on the couch. "I can't believe...Ethan?"

The detective and doctor nodded, sitting across from him. Edward looked down, toying with his fingers. "I can't really say that I don't understand. I was mad about Jasper the way he was about Richard, but we knew they were in love with somebody else." He smiled a little, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think Jasper finally accepted my courtship so Ethan wouldn't get suspicious."

"He cares for you," Holmes said. "He asked us to check in on you."

Edward nodded. "And Ethan?"

"He's going to prison," Watson sighed, and Edward looked down again.

"I guess it's just us then," he said quietly. "Me and Jasper." He looked back up and asked, "Can I ask you a question?"

Holmes and Watson glanced at each other, shrugging, and turned back to him. "Of course," Holmes said.

"Were you two really together when you arrived here?" Edward asked, his eyes squinting skeptically. "I mean, it's obvious that you're mad about each other now, but it didn't really seem like that at first."

The detective and doctor simultaneously scratched their heads awkwardly. Watson said, "No, Edward. We weren't together."

"But you are now?" He sounded hopeful. "You two are wonderful together."

Watson stiffened a bit, feeling Holmes' hand slide over his thigh and thread his fingers through his. Edward smiled, standing up. "I guess I'll go to the hospital then. Pay cranky old Jas a visit."

He hesitated briefly, and finally said, "You know you're always welcome to stay. The house is in my name too, you know."

"We appreciate that," Watson said, smiling at Holmes. "But I think we've been away from Baker Street too long."

----------------

"You're not even dressed!" Watson barked, entering the room for the fifth time. "Holmes, we are going to be late!"

The detective, who was still in his ratty clothes and unshaven, looked up from his notes. "Is it time to go already?"

Watson threw a balled up shirt, trousers, and jacket at him. Holmes peeled the articles of clothing off of his face. He stood up and began to undress right there, still looking at the notes. Watson rolled his eyes, walking away, muttering to himself.

--------------

"Come in!" Edward said when they arrived at the door. "Dinner is almost ready."

Jasper looked up from the sofa, and stood up slowly. He winced as he did so. Watson moved to him quickly, asking if he was changing the bandages regularly and cleaning the wound properly. Jasper rolled his eyes, dryly answering yes to every question. They went into the dining room, and Edward kissed Jasper.

"You'll be up and about in no time," he chirped. He turned to Holmes and Watson, sounding exasperated. "The real low about this is we can't be wild in the sheets."

Jasper groaned good-naturedly and muttered, "Just wait'll I heal up."

-------------

After dinner, Jasper limped up the stairs, with Edward's help, and he asked Watson and Holmes to follow them. He led them to the study, and hobbled over to the desk, where a stack of papers rested.

"After we cleared out Ethan's things," he explained. "I found this in Richard's lock box."

"Took a bloody long time to get it open," Edward added. "He had the key hidden under a floorboard in his office."

Jasper wordlessly handed the stack to Holmes. They weren't notes. They were journal entries, poems, and short stories. Holmes sorted through them quickly, and when he got to one particular page, Jasper stabbed his index finger to it. "Read it," he said.

_Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, _

_I'm not sure how busy you are, especially at this time of year, but I have a request. I'm having some personal issues at home. Two of my good colleagues turned up missing recently, and I have a sinking suspicion my my lover is behind it. I fear for my best friend's safety, but cannot prove that he is in danger. If you could get back to me, as soon as possible, I could give you more information. I know you will understand because I have seen you with your mate around London. _

_ Sincerely, Richard Winston_

"You did just what he asked," Jasper said, smiling, and for the first time, a sincere smile.

"Why did he not send it?" Watson asked.

"I guess Ethan got to him first," Jasper replied quietly, staring down at the desk. He looked back up at them. "Thank you again."

"So much!" Edward grabbed Holmes and kissed his cheek, wrapping his arms around his neck. He then did the same to Watson.

* * *

"They're all mad," Lestrade said, some weeks later, when Ethan was sentenced to life in prison. "Those Cleveland Street nuts."

"On the contrary," Holmes told him, sitting in the inspector's chair, his feet on his desk. "I find them to be the most practical of us all. They're not afraid of who they are."

Clarkey, who stood to the side of Lestrade, tugged at his collar nervously. He thought that had been Holmes in the brothel. Lestrade only shrugged. "Alright, well, case solved." He picked up his coat. "Care to join me for a drink, Holmes? To celebrate our victory?"

Holmes spun the chair around, staring absent-mindedly into space. "Not tonight, Lestrade." He removed himself from the chair and picked up his own coat. "I have plans this evening." He opened the top drawer of the desk, fishing out a pair of handcuffs. "May I borrow these?"

Lestrade and Clarkey looked at each other and the inspector shrugged. "Um...alright..."

The End

**Author's note:** Woo! *wipes sweat from brow* All done! Well, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks for all of the wonderful feedback as well!


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